Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun. ” “Uh. ToC Sir Rowland, meantime, paced his chamber with a quick and agitated step. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. It was cramped even at the end of the passage. But, no. He used to call it his fire-escape—ha! ha! I've often used the ladder for my own convenience, but I never expected to turn it to such good account.
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